www.thevalentinechronicles.com presents:
Safe and Sound
by
Paul L. Mathews
Part One
Tatiana didn’t know what had happened. All she knew was the armoured car had been hit by a rocket and now it was upside down. In a heap on the inverted roof, she could see out of the smashed windows to her side. The street—iced over and glistening even at the height of what passed for summer here on Oridia—was suddenly deserted. Where once there had been a throng of Oridians waving flags or political slogans she didn’t understand, now all she could see were the rent bodies of her bodyguards. She could hear shouting and a gunfight.
At thirteen she was old enough to know someone was trying to kill her, but too young to know why.
Oh, God! Oh, God! she thought. What’s happening? Where’s Father? She could see more wreckage out of the window: a door—smoking and torn from its car—with an Imperial flag emblazoned across it. That’s Father’s crest! No! They must have hit his car too!
She tried to scrabble onto her hands and knees, only to cut her delicate hands on the shards of glass strewn about her. Now on her knees, she looked to her wounded, bloodied hands.
The sound of gunfire—and shouting now—intensified, and she looked up. She could see boots moving toward her car— their concave nature and the raised attitude of their heel suggesting the owners were crouched, crabbing sideways toward her vehicle.
Those boots—they’re civilian issue. They don’t belong to Father’s men! They must be… Oh, God… These must be the people who attacked us!
She turned toward the opposite window, knees and
hands cut further by broken glass. Reaching it, she began to wrestle with the
handle—only to find it jammed.
I’m going to die. There’re are people out there who are going to kill me! Why? What have I done wrong? Where’s Father? Have they got him? Did they—”
There was a shattering of glass, and shards all in her face. She shrieked, falling backward. An arm reached in, blind hand groping.
“Out you come, Princess,” a disembodied voice said, muffled slightly. It was harsh and cruel—the voice of a child’s nightmares. “You’re coming with—”
The sentence ended as a shot rang out and, instantly, the arm went limp and the man fell fully into view. An aging Oridian, blue skin dulled by age and blizzard, his face was frozen in an expression of surprise, a bullet between his eyes. His apparel was scruffy, the equipment old and cobbled together. For the briefest moment, Tatiana had the abstract notion that this man looked … forlorn?
Suddenly the car door was wrenched open, the twisted, blackened metal groaning in defiance, but to no avail. Strong, thick arms pulled the wreckage aside, and moments later they reached in and pulled her free.
“It’s okay, Tatiana.” The voice was thick and sure and it carried all the chill and mystery of an Imperial Russia she knew only in day-dreams. “I’m here.”
Father! Oh, thank you, God!
Eyes squeezed shut, sobbing in relief and shaking in fear, she flung her arms about her father’s strong neck as he lifted her to his chest with one arm. Burying her head into his shoulder, she heard the sound of his gun as he stood his ground, fighting for her life.
Suddenly, despite it all, she felt safe.
#
Not so many years later, having finally been forced to flee her home in the face of Oridian revolution, Tatiana Valentine—accompanied by Boyd, her bodyguard—wandered through a deserted alien city, gazing about in a mixture of wonder and trepidation.
“This place is amazing!” she declared with a huge grin. “And, well, kinda spooky too.”
Boyd didn’t answer straight away. Tatiana had spotted the city when, the Troika having entered Parlour’s orbit, she’d conducted a cursory scan of its surface. Covered in water with the exception of a few tiny islands and archipelagos, the tranquil, glittering surface of the water-world was disturbed only by a handful of these cities. Set in a gargantuan bowl that floated upon the sea, held in place by massive tethers secured to the seabed below, the desolate metropolis was a dense collection of towers and bridges. Once, the towers would have shone in the sun, Tatiana supposed. But now time had taken the burnish off the metal that made up the framework, and had stolen the colour from the coral of their walls. All about them, as far as she could see, there were parks, boulevards and parapets suspended between the towers by thick, metal cables. There were no signs of life, and what little breeze there was carried a chill, the scent of brine and the taste of sea-water. Beyond the rim of the bowl, they could see a cold, pink sunset, the dense shadows lengthening all around them.
“Spooky? You got that right,” Boyd looked about them through narrowed, reddened eyes.
“It’s pretty, too!” Tatiana said as she stood beaming. This is more like it, she thought. Never mind all that skulking about on the Troika. This is much better—an adventure!
“Um, yeah. I suppose.” Boyd seemed a little distracted, and Tatiana supposed he would be more concerned about watching for danger than relaxing and enjoying the place. “…In that kind of run down and forlorn way.”
“So, d’ya think there’s anybody left alive?” asked Tatiana. “An’ where d’ya think they’d be?”
They’d landed their shuttle in a suspended park, decorated with bare trees, overgrown bushes and uncut grass, that was linked to the surrounding towers by robust suspension bridges. The edge of the park—encircled with a high mesh fence—overlooked a daunting view, the sheer drop interrupted by a complex congestion of ramparts, bridges and suspended precincts. The bottom of the towers were lost to the darkness thousands of feet below.
Now Boyd approached the edge and Tatiana guessed he was looking down into this vast, labyrinthine expanse below as his forehead rested against the mesh. She went to stand with him and saw his eyes were closed. She couldn’t be sure, but he looked hung over. She’d seen Katarina look just like that.
The crunching of dry grass under her boot made him look up. Allowing her a weary, laconic smile, he drew one of his many guns and fired a shot into the air, apparently at random. Its report echoed mightily throughout the seemingly deserted metropolis.
A huge phalanx of black, cawing birds burst into the air. Tatiana ducked her head a little. “What the..?”
“Carrion, Princess. Scavengers,” Boyd said, his bloodshot eyes watching the black cloud of birds recede. “Wanna know where everybody is?” he continued with a sardonic smile, pointing below. “I’d say what’s left of ‘em is down there. Somewhere.”
#
The bottom of the city was a fetid congestion of squalid factories, slums and warehouses that had once served a thriving economy, but now merely served as a hunting ground for the city’s new ruling elite.
Cloaked in darkness, they were bent and savage, their lives a primal cycle of feasting, copulation and fighting. But now these creatures suddenly had a new enemy, its presence echoing amongst the bowels of the city. As soon as the boom of Boyd’s pistol reverberated about them, they paused in their painful, violent pursuits and looked to the heavens, their multiple, lidless eyes alive and alert in the darkness.
There were intruders in the spires. Intruders…
… And fresh meat.
#
Hundreds of miles away, a scarred and battered submarine forged through the depths of a boundless ocean.
The sub’s bridge was dark and cramped, the claustrophobia of its darkness pierced only by varied and complex instrumentation over which a half-illuminated, amphibian crew bent and poured. Stood in the centre of this benighted space was the vessel’s captain. A prime example of his race, with strong limbs, oily skin and the burdens of rank etched amongst his aging, fish-like features, his hands were behind his back, the webbed fingers twitching as he listened to his officer’s report.
The long range scans were inconclusive at best, the first mate informed him. There were certainly life-signs, but in significantly reduced numbers. At this range, however, it was difficult to ascertain if the city had been subjected to a conventional attack, or one of the enemy’s Mutagents
The captain turned to his navigator, and demanded to know long it would take to reach the city, their home. The viscous delivery of his race’s dialect was rough and throaty.
At best, it would take four hours, the navigator surmised. The captain reflected on this with something approaching a sardonic twist of his flappy, wet lips.
Fours hours? What was another four hours after all these months?
With a croak, the captain issued his instructions: Get us home. Best speed.
#
With Ivan, Vast and Stalin at Sauber’s Bazaar, the Troika—in a geosynchronous orbit over the city—was manned only by Katarina and the ship’s serf, Doll 2.
“How are things going down there?” Katarina inquired, her usual flat, bored tone peppered with a little apprehension.
“Everything’s good, Kat,” came the reply from Tatiana. “No sign of trouble, and we’re going deeper into the city. Any sign of Uncle Ivan yet?”
“Not yet,” Katarina said. “He’s still on Sauber’s Bazaar. He’ll be hours yet, I guess.”
“Cool. Well, Me an’ Boyd’ll get back before he does—so he doesn’t need to know we slipped away, okay?”
“Ok, Tatiana… But—”
”Be careful? Oh, don’t be such a worry wart, Kat. I’m always careful!”
With that, Tatiana laughed and her signal dropped out, leaving Katarina alone with her thoughts.
With a heavy sigh, she sat back into her chair, her mood as dark as her gothic ensemble.
What’s the point of all this? she thought as she worried the flesh about her thumbnail with the nail of her forefinger, scratching at the skin in rapid, staccato strokes. No sooner has Ivan left for the Bazzar than Tatiana’s sneaking off to the planet to have a look around, as usual. And she’s left me behind. As usual. The skin gave way, and her thumb began to bleed. Not that I’m all that bothered about a planet full of deserted cities, but, well… she put the bleeding thumb into her mouth, sucking on it like an insecure child as she glared at the scanner screen, it would’ve been nice to have been asked.
“Coffee, Mistress Katarina?” inquired the androgynous Doll 2 as it presented her with a tray of coffee and sandwiches.
“Thanks,” she muttered in reply as she took the steaming cup of black, sour coffee from the silver tray.
“Some sandwiches, Mistress Katarina?” Doll 2 pressed, subtly edging the tray into her peripheral vision.
“No.”
There was a pause as Doll 2 stood rigidly in place whilst Katarina, just as diligently, ignored her, looking away. “You really should eat, Mistress Katarina,” Doll 2 continued. “Master Ivan has noted how little you’ve eaten since we left Oridia. You really should try and cheer up—”
“I’m fine!” Katarina shouted. “For God’s sake! Leave me alone!”
Why should I cheer up? she thought, turning away still further and raising the steaming coffee to her mouth. What am I supposed to be so cheerful about? Mother and Father dying? Being chased out of my home? Perhaps I should be giddy with relief that we survived the uprising and Matinee didn’t?
Well, I’m not relieved. I wish I was dead.
“Leave me alone, Dolly,” Katarina muttered as she closed her eyes, taking some succour in the gentle caress of steam on her face. “Just leave me alone. As usual.”
#
Boyd continued to stare in to the darkened depths of the city below.
“I’d hate to have to fly a shuttle outta there in a hurry,” he muttered.
Tatiana looked at him. He really does look worse for wear. I hope he’s okay. “Are you all right?” she asked, gently.
“Yeah, sure. Just a headache, that’s all,” he said, looking away.
Tatiana continued to look at him. Is he lying? “Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
Tatiana stiffened a little, then moved to change the subject. She stared down into the convolution of towers below. “We could go see, find out what’s down there” She peered up at him again. “We can easily get down there, right?”
Boyd looked at her. “Just because we can doesn’t mean we should,” he cautioned.
“And just because we shouldn’t doesn’t mean I can’t, right?” Tatiana countered with a wink and a grin.
“What about the shuttle?” Boyd asked. He clearly wasn’t convinced this was a good idea.
“It’ll be fine!” she insisted with a nonchalant glance at the shuttle in question. Resting and locked up in the park behind them, she was sure it would be okay.
Boyd continued to wrestle with something inside. It was just the same when she’d proposed they come down to the city in the first place—he clearly wasn’t comfortable with the notion, but Tatiana wouldn’t be deterred (that and he seemed slurred, distracted and a little too easily persuaded). She was so desperate to get off the Troika, so desperate for a distraction from the fear, apprehension and grief their lives had suddenly become that the prospect of exploring the derelict city was irresistible.
“Just like your bloody mother,” Boyd had muttered, giving in—just as he gave in now.
#
As one, the black mass had moved, intent on its prey, and now the creatures raced each other. Odd, misaligned limbs moved and clung to towers as they ascended the mammoth structures about them, finding purchase on even the smoothest of surfaces. Up they went, looking to the heavens as they ignored the condensation pissing down on them from the city above.
It was feeding time, and none of them wanted to miss out on the best pickings.
#
“Shops!” Tatiana declared. “This gets better and better!”
The causeway they now found themselves on was suspended between two typically mammoth towers. Punctuated with what had once been small outdoor cafes, crèches and garden displays, the thoroughfare was flanked by numerous shops which sprouted off the boulevard, hanging in individual pods.
Once, reflected Tatiana, the causeway would have been a pretty place indeed, but now it was smashed, derelict and littered with the evidence of looting and—for the first time—they saw some evidence of the city’s former denizens. Odd skeletons, picked clean of flesh, were dotted about. Although humanoid, Tatiana noted, there was something about enlarged frontal eminence and the unusually large… what were they called? Supercilary arches? that reminded her of the amphibious Cral of Spyker Minor that her xenobiology teacher had made her study. Most were empty handed, but some held jewellery or other object d’art in their bony clutches, as if hoping to ward off the inevitable with these stolen talismans.
Boyd prodded one with the toe of his boot. “Head smashed in,” he observed. “Teeth marks on most of the bones…” His voice tailed off. “I’m not liking this, Princess. I think we should get back. Now…”
But Tatiana had gone dashing excitedly to the first shop-pod. Her omnipresent backpack was already open and ready.
“Tatiana! Stop it! That’s stealing!” she heard Boyd call after her as she began popping stuff in her bag.
“No it’s not. Everybody’s dead.” she shouted back. “Besides, who’s gonna know?”
“Ivan.”
“Don’t be silly! How’s he gonna find out?”
“Are you kidding? This is your Uncle we’re talking about…”
She paused, a holographic picture of the sea in hand. Her bag was already stuffed with some faded old antique photos of these aliens in their prime, and something that looked a lot like a nut-cracker.
“Good point,” she conceded, putting the holographic picture down again.
#
They moved on, leaving the shops behind, and now Tatiana stopped to see what Boyd was staring at.
They were now in the heart of one of the towers, which itself contained a host of individual buildings and structures. To Tatiana, these buildings seemed very sober, very, well… boring. Probably municipal buildings of some type, she thought.
The steps of the large, squat construction at which they were stood were littered with discarded books and small, bright tubes. Some sorta data storage thingy? she wondered as she bent and picked one up to inspect it.
“Do you think that’s a library?” Boyd asked her, looking at the books strewn about the steps.
She nearly didn’t hear him. Instead she was staring at the skeletons, to which she had become accustomed. They weren’t as prevalent here, the doomed inhabitants of the city obviously less keen to ease their dying days with a good book rather than bright, shiny loot.
I can relate to that—but Boyd can’t, she thought, smiling to herself. Look at him. How many times did I wander down to the kitchens for a glass of milk and found Father and Boyd sitting at the kitchen table with a couple of shots of whisky, reading and discussing some crappy old book or other?
Oh, Father…
She quickly thrust the thought to the back of her mind as she forced herself to focus on the present.
“Wanna go in?” she inquired, intruding on Boyd’s fascination with the library, and his obvious desire to have a look inside. Was he thinking of Father too?
“Um…” Boyd seemed a little surprised. He knew she hated books and stuff. “Can we?”
“Sure.” She smiled brightly. “Maybe you can find something to read, huh?”
#
Within the depths of the library, a curled, sleeping form, hidden in shadow, stirred, asleep in a hammock of silken web. All about it the delicate threads of her extended web trembled, their message simple and direct—there were intruders.
With an arachnid swiftness, the shape unfurled an array of legs and scuttled into the dark recesses of the building, intent on intercepting the strangers, intent on defending its home.
Part Two
The Hunter
The dwindling light outside offered scant relief from the darkness inside the library, and Tatiana and Boyd had to resort to using their torches. Having crept in through the open doors, they stood in a small foyer, dank and dark. The air was stale and tasted of mould. Utter silence reigned. There were no skeletons, only what once must have been austere desks and coral walls lined with tall, abstract sculptures—all buried under dust and a network of thick, brooding web.
White and stringy, the strands were everywhere. It wasn’t tightly woven, and the gaps were more then big enough to step through, but Tatiana could see it tremble ever so slightly in response to even the smallest of noises. “There’s loads of it,” she said as she reached out to touch the web.
“Tatiana…” Boyd lurched toward her, “…don’t tou—”
Too late. “It’s sticky!” She tried to pry her fingers away, but they were stuck fast.
Boyd heaved an agitated sigh. “Here…” Reaching into one of his utility pouches, he produced a tiny aerosol with which he sprayed her finger tips. “Now don’t touch anything else!”
“Okay.” Tatiana eyed him warily as the small aerosol dissolving the web on contact.
“You’d best keep it,” he said, placing it in her hand. He clearly wasn’t convinced she could keep her promise.
She took it from him and popped into her jacket pocket.
“What did Ivan say this planet was called again?” Boyd’s voice was hushed as he eyed the assorted web strands warily.
“Parlour.” Tatiana replied, just as quietly.
He laughed. It was a humourless and empty laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“Said the spider to the fly?”
What’s he on about? “No, sorry, I don’t follow you?
“Never mind,” he said before changing the subject, gesturing at one of the three pistols on his belt—a small, manageable number. “Want one?”
“Are you joking?” she asked, shocked. “If Uncle Ivan found out…”
“Ivan’ll never know,”
Tatiana stopped to look at him reproachfully, raising an eyebrow. “Won’t know? Ivan?”
“Good point.” Boyd underlined her unease by drawing his big revolver and checking the chamber, spinning and replacing it with a deft flick of his wrist. “I don’t like this, Princess,” he said, raising the weapon parallel with his head as he looked about. “Big webs generally mean big spiders. We should get back to the shuttle.”
“Yeah... Maybe…” Her voice tailed off, and then she and Boyd turned to face each other, brows furrowed in confusion.
“What’s that smell?” they asked each other, simultaneously.
It had assailed her senses from out of nowhere—a thick, dense scent that tickled the skin and filled the nostrils
“Satsumas and pine,” Boyd said. “Reminds me of Christmas.”
“Really? Tatiana frowned. What’s going on here? she wondered. That smells nothing like satsumas and pine… She closed her eyes and felt herself sway a little. I feel sorta… sleepy. Everything seems to be swimming a little. What is that smell?
Her eyes snapped open.
Father’s cologne! It smells of Father’s cologne! “We can’t go back,” she said. There was an urgency in her voice that matched the way she grabbed Boyd’s arm, gripping hard. “We’ve got to keep going.”
Is he here? Her mind raced, trying to imagine a scenario—any scenario—that would make it possible.
“I’m… not sure, Princess.” The hollowness in Boyd’s tone betrayed his uncertainty though, and she could see the way he peered into the semi-darkness, scanning, as if he too were looking for something. Did he, too, feel the same compulsion to push on?
“Boyd,” she said in a tiny voice. “Please?”
#
The further they penetrated the convoluted confines of the library, the stronger the scent and the weaker the light. Eventually only their torches exorcised the pitch darkness.
As they systematically moved from room to room, each choked with books, dust and web, Tatiana noted that Boyd hadn’t looked twice at the tomes, and there were a lot of them to see.
Tatiana hadn’t either. Books from a world without trees? she’d thought when they’d first approached the building. They’ve got to be kinda rare. Maybe we should keep a few to sell—we’re gonna need the money for supplies, after all.
Such mercenary speculations were now forgotten.
“Big webs mean big spiders,” Boyd had said, and Tatiana had to admit the thought unsettled her. That, and the dark. “The Dark’s only good for one thing, Tzarina,” Father had once told her. “Hiding monsters.”
The thought of her Father—the chance he might be here—made her ignore the dark and her primal fears. That and the slightly light-headed, intoxicated feeling that was starting to possess her the further they went into the library. This can’t be good, she kept telling herself. Why do I feel so… stupefied? She looked at Boyd, and the vaguely glazed look to his eyes told her he was feeling the same. No, this can’t be good. But I don’t care. That smell…
They pushed on regardless, incited and invited by the scent that stroked their skin like a prospective lover.
#
It scuttled through the library on spindly legs. The intruders were close now, it realised. They were close to its food.
It had to stop them.
#
Tatiana and Boyd reached the end of a long corridor. They found an old door. It was heavy, rough and made—as ever—of coral.
God,
Tatiana thought. The
scent. It’s so strong here.
It… I’m sure I can even feel it on my skin. She moved the torch beam about.
It highlighted a haze of liquid that hung in the air. Something’s not right about this. Father’s cologne was never this
strong. I’m nearly choking on it
Boyd braced his pistol in both hands and glanced at Tatiana before kicking the door open. Tatiana, her thread-bare nerves finally tearing, shouted out in a combination of shock and fear as she looked into the room. Hidden in shadow was a selection of bodies, clutched possessively by cocoons and webs.
“Oh, God,” Tatiana said, hand going over her mouth. Oh, God, please. Please—not Father! Anybody but him… Then she shined the torch upon them. They were amphibious, with bald, cranial heads, gawping eyes and slack, gaping mouths. Tatiana guessed they were once native to the city—but now, from what little she could see, they were little more than half-eaten meals in a silken pantry.
The sight of the part-devoured cadavers, and the relief that none of them were Father, made her feel nauseous. Still covering her mouth, the other hand went to her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick, Boyd,” she said, bile rising in her throat.
“Shhhhush,” a gentle, feminine voice behind them chastised. “This is a library…”
#
The distorted beasts below had been forced to slow down, their rate of ascent stalled as they neared the upper echelons of the towers.
Even now, as the city above fell into dusk, the insipid sun gently sliding into the boundless ocean, the light was still too strong and the pain too great for eyes so used to countless years in the depths.
Impatient and frustrated, they came to a halt. Slowly their numbers swelled as those behind caught up, until the side of the towers were swathed in an oily mass of limbs, mandibles and black eyes. Fights broke out, and the less fortunate squealed as they were butchered, subsumed by a fervent swell of bloodlust and hunger.
The mass bubbled and shifted, waiting for the sun to go down.
#
Boyd stared at the creature, his eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” he said, his pistol raised and pointed straight at the alien’s head.
Tatiana looked from the creature, to Boyd, and back again. The creature didn’t respond. She merely stared at them both. Clothed in delicate white silk she was humanoid and totally hairless. She’s pretty, in a sorta… alien way, Tatiana thought. She reminds me of Shona. The similarity between the creature and the friend she’d left behind—without having the chance to say goodbye—struck her very distinctly. I wonder… I wonder if this girl will be my friend too?
Tatiana glanced at Boyd, and—despite the fact he had his gun squarely levelled at the creature’s head—she could see he was a little unsure of what to do next. It was obvious the scent that had so intoxicated them emanated from this creature—the light from Tatiana’s torch highlighted a viscous sheen on her skin that the Princess assumed was responsible—but the alien didn’t look like the least bit threatening. She was just looked at them in a way that seemed combined curiosity and perhaps a little anger at their intrusion into her home.
Boyd’s finger was twitching on the trigger. “I said…” now he shifted his stance, raising his other hand to steady his pistol, “… who are you?” There was no response.
Father’s cologne, Tatiana thought. Her nostrils flared as the scent became heavier. The smell’s so much stronger. She asked carefully: “Do you understand us?” The creature blinked its big white eyes in silence.
“Do you understand?” Boyd’s arms were definitely trembling now as if he was struggling to hold up a great weight.
The creature blinked again, turning her head slightly to stare at Boyd. “Portia,” she said. “My name is Portia.”
Boyd narrowed his eyes. “Okay, Portia, what
are you doing here?”
She held his gaze. “I live here.”
“And are those creatures in there yours?” He jerked his thumb toward the captives beyond the coral door, his tone matter-of-fact as if he saw this kind of thing everyday.
“Yes. I store them there for food.”
Food? Tatiana reflected on this for a second, glancing at Boyd. That’s kinda… gross. The thought faded away, however, as she thought: God, she even sounds like Shona!
Portia suddenly looked at Tatiana and smiled broadly, the way you’d smile at an old friend…
…And Tatiana smiled back.
#
The setting of the sun was inexorable, and as the shadows lengthened about the city, so did they swell, thick with the twinkling of eyes and the twitching of limbs.
Slowly, coyly, the darkness grew, and the shadows fell upon the stairs of the library, and—across the city—the shuttle Tatiana and Boyd had left behind.
#
Boyd glared at the arachnid. Tatiana watched him
closely, wondering what was going through his head. Does he want to shoot her?
Be her friend? Does she remind him of Shona
as well? And now the cologne scent
was increasing. Boyd shuffled, blinked, as though affected too.
“How…” He spoke between gritted teeth, his brow furrowed in an effort to focus attention. “How did you get here?” Was he, Tatiana wondered, as light-headed as she felt?
“I’m… I’m not sure,” Portia said, smiling broadly at him. It was Shona’s smile.
“Not sure?” Tatiana said.
“I think I remember landing here, a long time ago, with my sisters. I was very young. I grew up here, in the city’s sewers. It’s all I know, all I’ve ever known.”
Portia had moved closer to Tatiana now, staring all the while at Boyd’s gun. Is she trying to get into striking distance? Tatiana wondered. Or is she just trying to gauge if we’re a threat, if she can get to me before Boyd shoots? No—that doesn’t make sense. Shona would never do that.
“And were the people here already dead?” said Boyd, blinking rapidly, as though his eyes stung.
“Um, no. But I remember them going mad and starting to kill each other.”
“They killed each other? Why?” Tatiana said.
“I’m not sure. I only know what I’ve read—accounts of the last days of their civilisation recorded by scholars.” Portia smiled at Tatiana again. “The population started mutating, changing. They transformed into strange, blood-hungry creatures that tore each other apart.”
That was horrible. “Do you know why?” Tatiana asked.
“I don’t.” Portia shrugged. “No one knows. All I do know is that what’s left of the populace is a mass of mutated savages.”
“So you and the folks just moved in here and started picking up the scraps, right?” Boyd said.
Portia didn’t answer. She looked down at her feet with an air of embarrassment, declining to answer.
“And where’s the rest of your family?” Tatiana said.
Portia’s body seemed to sag a little. “They’re gone now,” she said, her voice lowering an octave, “and I’m all that’s left…”
Tatiana’s expression softened. Poor kid. She looks so lonely. “You mean… You mean you’re alone here? All your sisters are dead?”
“Yes,” Portia said quietly as she turned those big white eyes on Tatiana, “I’m trapped here. All alone.”
“So why live in a library?” Boyd said.
“I like to read,” she said with another shrug.
The impact on Boyd was visible, the aggression draining from his face.
“And how did you get here?” Portia asked, smiling at Tatiana again.
The shuttle! Tatiana thought. We left it unguarded! Tatiana turned to Boyd. “D’ya think we should get back to the shuttle?”
He couldn’t answer straight away. He was clearly having trouble concentrating, his eyes lacking in focus and his expression neutral. “Aye,” he said. Tatiana could see it took some time for her question to percolate through his fogged up senses. “C’mon,” he said, tearing his gaze away from Portia. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” Portia’s eyes became narrow and astute.
“Our shuttle—“
“You have a shuttle?” Just for a fraction of a second, Tatiana felt the scent slacken off and dissipate, as if the creature’s concentration was broken.
“Yeah,” Tatiana said with a smile.
There was lull, and Portia studied Tatiana as though mulling over this new information. Then, “Well, I’d get out of here, if I were you,” she said. “The mutants only come up to the city when the sun goes down. If they know you’re here…”
“I agree,” Boyd said, finally succumbing to the weight of his gun and lowering it as he grabbed Tatiana’s arm with his free hand. “We need to go.”
Tatiana hesitated, drawing away from Boyd and glancing back at Portia. The scent. It’s changed. It seemed lighter now. Fresh and invigorating. I don’t seem so sleepy, somehow. In fact, I feel kinda good. “Okay,” she said. “But we’re taking Portia with us.”
Boyd blinked, looking at Portia and Tatiana in turn. Portia smiled sweetly at him. “We are?” he said.
“Yes.”
“But we…” Boyd’s words stumbled to a halt and Tatiana felt the scent becoming even more vivid, even more captivating. “But we don’t know anything about her,” he said, staggering through the words like a drunkard. “She could be some sort of threat. It’s my job to keep you safe—”
“Safe from who? Her?” Tatiana laughed, gesturing at Portia. “She’s what? Five foot and seven stone sopping wet. She’s no threat, Boyd.”
Boyd looked from Tatiana to Portia. His eyes were heavy-lidded and soporific. “Right, fine,” he said.
Portia smiled.
Such a nice smile, Tatiana thought, absently. So much like Shona’s.
#
From out of the library Boyd, Tatiana and Portia fled into the encroaching night, the towers, palisades and bridges all about them falling into darkness as the sun finally drowned beneath the waves of the horizon.
With only a few automated street lights left working, and only a half-moon to show the way, the city was dark and foreboding, and what moonlight there was struggled to fight a way through the imperial skyline. Tatiana’s torch beam thrashed through the darkness as they ran headlong back toward the shuttle.
“How far?” she asked Boyd, her breathing even and steady.
“About two more blocks,” Boyd said, gasping. He wasn’t as young as he used to be.
Portia, for her part, kept perfect pace, her eyes alert and probing.
#
Rasping heavily now, sweat collecting on his weathered brow, Boyd signalled to Tatiana to turn off her torch as the three of them pressed themselves to the side of a tower, hidden in the shadows.
Before them sat the shuttle, its running lights blinking rhythmically as it sat awaiting their return. The doors still shut, the interior lights still dimmed, it looked undisturbed. The park itself was relatively well lit by moonlight, and they saw no sign of life.
“Okay,” Boyd said, turning back to Tatiana, “We make a run for it. Me first, then you.”
“And me?” Portia said.
Boyd turned to look at her. “Um, I guess you come last,” he said, stumbling over the words.
Tatiana looked at Portia. This… this doesn’t make sense. Suddenly she doesn’t look so much like Shona. She just looks kinda bland and ordinary. Why have we brought her again? She breathed in the fresh-air, the scent so thin in the open it barely pricked her senses.
“Take this,” Boyd said. He tried to press a gun into her hand.
“No, Boyd!” she said, pulling away. “You know Ivan doesn’t—”
“Ivan’ll never kn… Oh, never mind.” Without fanfare or flourish, Boyd drew another revolver, brandishing the two weapons with professional ease. “Well Princess, you might have balls like grapefruits,” he said, “but I’m a coward, an’ my courage is measured in rounds-per-minute. Now let’s go”
They set off, sprinting, Tatiana’s stolen treasures and Boyd’s kit chattering in the silence.
They’d only crossed about half the distance to the shuttle, rushing headlong across the open park, before it all began to go wrong. Tatiana had been warily taking in the surroundings and she realised just how exposed they were right now. Suddenly, the sound of gunfire and the sensation of her armoured car overturning echoed from her past. This is a perfect spot for an ambush, she realised
Sure enough, she was right.
Creatures emerged from the towers above, spilling onto the park periphery like rising sewage. A tide of indistinct shapes, cloaked in the darkness, they were wave upon wave of black, asymmetrical bodies and hungry, staring eyes. Silent and swift, they closed in with alien speed.
“Get to the shuttle!” Boyd shouted as he levelled his guns.
It’s no use, Tatiana realised even as he opened fire. It’s all over…
Part Three
Falling
As his battered submarine pierced the ocean, the captain studied a report. En route to the city, he’d used the time to scan for signs of life. But the new information revealed no signs of survivors, only mutations—bastardized distortions of his people.
They’d done it, he realised. Their enemies had dropped their Mutagents into the city, and now the cancer had ripped his family—his hope—from him.
His head went into his hands, and he wept.
#
Biting down on the stabbing pain in her stomach, Katarina staggered as best she could through the Troika. Doubled over, she gasped into her comlink. “Dolly?” Nausea dizzied her as she waited for reply. “…Dolly?”
At last, the android’s voice clipped through the silence. “Doll Two here. What can I do for you, Miss Katarina?” Her voice sounded tinny over the small device.
“Get the shuttle ready…” The pain always meant one thing, and one thing only. “…Tatiana’s in trouble.”
#
There’s too many of them, Tatiana thought. Just too many.
She couldn’t see them properly. It was too dark. She could see odd, twisted shapes, multi-limbed and hairy, and the occasional blinking as moonlight reflected off eyes and teeth. They smelt of old, dead fish, and they made a funny, clicking, chattering sort of sound.
Yet she continued to punch, she continued to kick, she continued to block. All the while, the black, abstract shapes snarled, heaved and lunged at her, but she blocked them all, fighting with a ferocity and passion she hadn’t known she possessed—a ferocity and passion her father was famous for.
“Boyd!” She dodged sideways as she shouted, punching one of these indistinct creatures in the side of the head as it lunged for her and missed. “Boyd! Are you there?!”
She could hear him. She could hear his guns, and a tirade of foul-mouthed obscenities between reports. “You bitch, Portia!” he shouted. “I’m gonna fu—”
“Boyd! I need help here!” Tatiana shouted. “Please!”
Just stay calm, Tat, she thought, crouching low on her heels and striking one of the black shapes in its chin with an uppercut. Just keep calm. You can do this. Father taught you how. She breathed deep and exhaled through the mouth. A calmness filled her. A calmness that contrasted vividly with the frenetic fight for survival.
“Stay there—Argh, bastard!” Boyd’s tirade was interrupted by the sound
of more gunfire. “Stay there, Princess—I’m coming!”
Then you’d better come quick, Boyd. There’s so many of these things. Another lunged for her, but she ducked once more, and black shape squealed in frustration as its momentum carried it over her back. What the Hell are they?
Suddenly, however, there was a scream—a human scream.
Oh my God, no! She called to him, “Boyd!” Silence. She tried again, her voice cracking, “Boyd?!”
There was no reply.
Her inner calm crumbled. Oh, God, no. Please, not now. Not Boyd. Another of the shapes—black, blurred mouth gaping and wanton—rushed at her, but she felled it with a straight left. Oh, Boyd, I’m so sorry. I should never have made you come here. What have I done? Her precise, exacting moves vanished now, and instead there was a wild, panicked aspect to her struggle. One of the shapes lurched for her, but she lashed out with a fist, knocking it the ground, then she kicked and kicked and kicked at the writhing mass as it squirmed and squealed beneath.
I don’t want to die here! What little she could see in this half light was clouded by tears, their vulnerability juxtaposed with the ferocity of her struggle and the readiness of her closed fists. Suddenly she was a little girl again, trapped in that car, crying and afraid. Father? Are you there? Please help me. Please come for me. I need you…Father?
But her Father didn’t come. Instead one of the
creatures jumped onto her back, and she felt claws sinking into her flanks.
Jerking her head backward, it connected and she heard bone crunching as the
creature let go, falling away from her.
You’re not
coming, are you. Father? Ever?
I’m all alone.
Perhaps this energised her, perhaps the violence around her was some sort of spur, but she breathed deep again, then exhaled as she suddenly felt she’d been awoken from a catatonic resignation. She felt the fugue that had besieged her since the confrontation with the Witch lift, and a primal, violent need to survive now screamed inside her like a newborn.
The
shuttle. I have to reach the
shuttle.
#
Of the four shuttles the Troika carried, one was always in bits waiting for someone to figure out how to put it back together; the newest—and best—was currently in the city below; the third was in Sauber’s Bazaar; and the fourth was now being prepped by Doll 2 as Katarina entered the Troika’s hangar.
Shabby and worn out, this shuttle was an evil, cantankerous old thing the crew unlovingly called the Old Bitch. Scarred with pock marks and burns, it hinted at numerous adventures and its canopy—angled and narrow—had a distrustful, glaring countenance. Even now it seemed to glower at Katarina as if rebuking the Oridian for daring to disturb its sleep.
“How long ‘til she’s ready?” Katarina said, her tone forthright.
“I’d say about ten minutes,” Dolly said. “She has to be fuelled up and I’m trying to charge up the reserve batteries. They appear to have gone flat.”
Katarina pursed her lips and regarded the old shuttle critically. Always have to be awkward, huh?
“In the meantime,” Dolly said, “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a kit-bag for you, Mistress.” With that, she thrust a sizable bag into Katarina’s arms. Katarina ran a calculated gaze over the ‘droid. Despite its features being perfectly blank, she felt fairly sure that it was proud of itself.
“Ooookay,” Katarina said, unzipping the bag and taking a look inside with some trepidation. “Dolly, there’s a packed-lunch in here… and water wings.”
“It pays to be prepared, Your Highness.”
#
Tatiana reached the shuttle, slamming the pressure pad with a high-kick. The door hissed open behind her, and—felling two of her assailants with successive blows—she clambered aboard with one last despairing look over her shoulder. She couldn’t see Boyd, and the hatch slammed shut, muting the sound of the scratching, chittering mass outside.
For all her hours in the gym and good eating, she was
exhausted. She glistened with sweat, and the touch-paper blue of her skin was
tainted with the
I’ve got to
stop, she thought, collapsing to her hands and knees. Just for a second. One hand went to her chest as she massaged her
breastbone. I’m so… So…
Uh, I can barely breath. Lungs.
On fire. Hurts. Everything. Pain.
What are those
things?
Boyd.
No. Doesn’t matter. Concentrate. You’ve got to get out of here.
She moved to the pilot’s seat, swiftly punching in the activation sequence. She felt the subtle vibration of the craft as the engines stirred. Also she felt the shuttle starting to rock.
The
creatures. They’re trying to
get in.
Increasingly the shuttle started to rock from side to side. Tatiana hit a switch that brought down the blast shielding on the canopy. Curious as she was to get a closer look at those things, she wasn’t risking them coming through the plexiglass.
Sight fixed on her instrumentation, shuttle rocking with increasing violence, she strapped herself in and ran through the rest of the pre-launch sequence.
#
Finally the Old Bitch was ready, and Katarina climbed aboard, heading straight for the pilot’s seat. The inside of the shuttle was as ramshackle as its exterior, with various access panels missing and exposed wiring and looms spilling out into the shuttle’s interior like dirty laundry.
“Nice to be travelling in style,” she muttered as she studied the instrument panels hard. It was ages since she’d flown any of the shuttles, let alone this piece of crap, and she was both perplexed and nervous. Through the Old Bitch’s canopy she could see Parlour mocking her from beyond the hangar door’s AEGIS shield.
Eventually, she strapped herself into the seat with its dodgy old five point harness, and began the pre-launch sequence.
#
An alarm beeped insistently in Tatiana’s ear, drawing her attention to an external sensor.
The creatures were all over the shuttle, literally burying the craft as they tried to pry it open. Then another alarm sounded, and Tatiana smiled a grim, tight smile.
Pre-flight was over.
I’ve got to go…now. But what about Boyd? He might still be alive. She bit her lip. No, he’s gone. Save yourself, something hard and nasty inside her whispered. That’s what Father would have told you to.
Tatiana opened up the engines, gunning the throttle. Briefly she was slammed into her seat as the startled compensators struggled to adjust. Teeth white and bared, knuckles ashen, she held onto the yoke with grim determination and she fought to control the bucking vessel.
“I’d hate to have to fly a shuttle outta here in a hurry,” Boyd had said, and now Tatiana knew exactly what he meant.
Towers, parapets and bridges suddenly loomed at her, every bit as vicious and deadly as the creatures she’d just escaped. Heaving on the yoke, she threw the shuttle into a slide to slur across the face of a coral tower, missing it by feet, only to face another tower, and another. It was an incessant rush, and she dare not even blink as she tried to avoid collision and gain altitude. Her head lowered, and her eyes narrowed as she glared through her eyelashes at the instrumentation. Failure isn’t an option, Tatiana, she told herself. You’re a Valentine.
#
Finally the Old Bitch had left the Troika, and now Katarina was nervously guiding it down toward the planet beneath. Previously blue, Parlour’s clear surface was now veiled in black with a corona of brilliant white painted about the rim by the setting sun beyond.
The pain in her belly was easing a little, and the nausea seemed to be subsiding. Ever since they’d been kids that pain, that sickness, had told them when the other was either in fear or danger.
What have you gotten into, Tatty? Katarina thought. See? I warned you. Running off. Getting into trouble. As usual.
Suddenly she was penetrating the ionosphere, the belly of the shuttle white hot in re-entry.
That… doesn’t
look good. She appraised the instrumentation. Those temperatures look awfully high. The shuttle began to shake
violently—so violently, in fact, she was having trouble focusing. The harness
began to bite into her shoulders, and she felt an acute pain in her temple, as
if her brain was trying to get out. And
if my teeth are anything to go by, the shuttle’s going to start shaking itself
apart…
Any…
Minute…
Now!
Behind her, without warning, an access panel on the starboard bulkhead was blasted through the air as conduits fractured, spewing coolant into the shuttle. At the same time a section of bodywork on the port bulkhead buckled as a muffled bang blurted out from behind, smoke pouring out from the ruptured pipes behind.
Goddam—I’m not even a quarter into the ionosphere, Katarina thought with alarm, and the Old Bitch’s already shaking herself apart.
“Hang on, Tatiana,” she said through clenched, vibrating teeth, “I’m coming.
“…I hope.”
#
“Oh, shit,” Tatiana muttered through clenched, vibrating teeth. Then her shuttle collided with a bridge. The structure was destroyed on impact, torn in half—but the shuttle paid a heavy price too. Damaged, pitched into a spin, the little craft dipped and bore downwards.
Tatiana wrestled for control of the bucking yoke—to no avail. The proximity alarm’s stutter became a hysterical scream, and the shuttle ploughed nose first into a tower. Slammed forward, belts biting into her savagely, Tatiana had the briefest impression of the yoke’s MIDAS system bloating outward and catching her, preventing her from hitting the instrument panel—but her brain impacted against the inside of her skull, and she was out like a light.
Slumped and unconscious, she flopped about in the pilot’s seat as the unguided shuttle plummeted into the depths of the city.
Part Four
The Fly
Boyd awoke with a start and
a small shout. Where am I? was his first thought. How
long have I been unconscious?
The last he remembered was being held aloft by a
black, besieging mass, and then he’d been thrown from the park into the plummet
beyond. He’d screamed, convinced that was it—he was dead. But then he had the
briefest sensation of something hitting him in the back, between the shoulder
blades, something sticky and strong that arrested his fall and then bang!
I…Dammit. I can’t move. He struggled some more. What is this stuff?
Held fast, arms pinned to his side, he looked down as best he could, the movement of his neck limited by a cocoon that covered his body. Whatever it was made of, it was clearly strong and sticky, his attempts to free himself proved fruitless.
He stopped, eyes narrowing as they began to adjust to
the lack of light, and it soon became all too apparent where he was—he’d
recognise those cocooned bodies anywhere.
Oh, great, he thought. I’m back in the bloody library with all the other half-eaten ready meals. “Then am I a happy fly…” he muttered, quoting his favourite poet whilst closing his eyes in resignation.
Then he heard a scuttling sound, like that of many legs on wood, and it made his skin crawl. He craned to his neck to look above him, and his blood ran cold as he caught the briefest impression of something moving swiftly across the ceiling—something white and arachnid.
Despite years as a soldier of fortune and gun-for-hire, Boyd was still only human, and he still had a human’s primal fears. His mind screaming, he shuddered and began to struggle with renewed vigour.
Then the darkness spoke in a whisper. “You shouldn’t struggle so,” it said. Moments later Portia was beside him, suspended upside down from a strand of silk. She was close, very close, and Boyd was convinced her head was changing shape as she appeared, like water boiling in slow motion reverse.
“Portia,” Boyd said in a
low growl, his distrust of this creature helping him regain focus, “I knew we
couldn’t trust you.” It was difficult to decipher the way she was looking at
him. Eyes narrowed, head cocked to one side and mouth stretched into a thin
line, she seemed to be trying to assess her captive.
“That’s not true,” she said after a long pause. “I followed you. I saved you. I saw you being thrown from the park by those creatures. I caught you. I brought you back here.”
“What? All the way back to your pantry? Oh, well that’s just great.”
Again she didn’t reply straight away, but merely
looked him in the same way she’d assessed both he and Tatiana the first time
they’d met.
Wait a minute?
he thought. What’s
that smell?
“You… We… We’re safe here,” Portia said, her voice earnest, forthright. “The mutants never come here. They’re too afraid of me.”
She smiled again, and Boyd
found himself captivated. Bloody Hell,
he thought, she looks a lot like Tatiana…
Tatiana! he thought. I’ve got
to help her! Those creatures! They might have her! He renewed his
struggle against the cocoon, heaving against it. “Let me out of here!” he
demanded. “If you wanna help me, what’s with the
bloody cocoon?”
“There’s a lotion on the
silk—a medicine. You absorb it through the skin and it makes you strong again,
healthy—”
“Well, Doctor Portia, any chance you can
discharge me? Only, I’ve an appointment to keep, and as comfy as
Suddenly Portia sneered,
lunging forward suddenly—seemingly for his throat.
He cried out again in
reflex, eyes squeezed shut as he expected her to ravage his neck, but her open
mouth merely bit at the collar of the cocoon, and within moments, she tore it
from him with nimble fingers and strong arms. Naked, he fell a good few feet to
the floor.
“Oops! Sorry!” Portia called down as Boyd swore at her. He wasn’t sure she was being sincere.
He rubbed his head and closed his eyes for a short
moment. When he opened them again, she was stood beside him once again in
uncomfortable proximity, smiling. He took a moment to look at her. Why did Tatiana say Portia was only five
foot tall? She’s easily a six
footer—and regal with it. Just like Tatiana.
He squeezed his eyes shut again, forcing himself to focus. What do I need to do? Rescue Tatiana. Right, yeah. Now… What do I need to rescue her?
“Clothes? Guns?” Boyd said, tearing his mind back to the present as best he could. Acutely aware of his nakedness, he was suddenly uncomfortable with the thought of being undressed by this… thing.
Portia took his hand. “This way.” Her skin felt smooth and warm. He felt her squeeze, betraying an alien strength. “You get dressed and then we find Tatiana.”
He stopped. “You know where she is?”
“Of course I know. I’ve hunted in this city for years.”
“And you’ll help me find her?”
“Of course,” Portia smiled, “Tatiana’s my friend. My only friend.”
Something about that unsettled Boyd. Friend? She’s known Tatiana, what? …five minutes? “So you help me find her, what do you get out of it?”
Suddenly the perfume was in his nose again, filling it with that delicate smell of fresh pine and satsumas—the smell from Boyd’s fondest remembrance of a childhood Smells just like Christmas. Got an Action Man and the Lord of the Rings books. His head became cloudy and dull, and his senses seemed sluggish and drunken.
“I help you save Tatiana, and you take me with you, on your shuttle.” Portia said. Every bit as feisty as Tatiana, she was glaring at him, chin stuck out in defiance.
“Why should I trust you?” Boyd asked, his voice a low mumble as his senses thickened still further.
“Why shouldn’t you? I help you save Tatiana and I get off this horrid planet. It’s a simple enough deal.”
Again that smell of pines and satsumas.
Didn’t
even take the Action Man out of the box. Read those books to death—as best I could… He opened his eyes
again. Now fully adjusted to the darkness, he could see the shelves that lined
the walls with greater clarity. “But… All these books.
Why do you wanna leave?” “Because
I’ve read them. All of them. Ten times over.
And I’m lonely. And I’m sick of eating fish.”
“Okay, okay, I believe you.” He felt a little mean, a little ashamed. Poor kid. Must have been hard stuck here all these years on her own. He tried to think of Tatiana in a similar situation, but found the concept unbearable. “Okay, let’s go find Tatiana.”
She turned to look at him, her pretty face breaking out into a bright smile, and then she scampered off, running like an excited kid. “Follow me, then!”
He set off after her.
#
Tatiana started to mewl like a baby. Boyd. I left him. The same way I left Matinee. And my own damned parents. “Father.” Her voice was thick with distress and tears. “Father—please help me…”
She was in pain. She was lying on something metal and sharp. The shuttle’s ceiling.
The shuttle. Why is it upside down? She remembered trying to get it out of the city, only to hit something. Then blackness.
She opened her eyes. It was cold, and the darkness was punctuated only by the epileptic static of dead monitors and the sparks from severed cables as they writhed and hissed.
Oh, God, she thought. She hated the dark. She always had. She tried to get up. I’ve got… I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to get back to the Troika. Maybe even find Boyd. Her hands slipped on something sticky and she slumped down again, lapsing into unconsciousness.
#
Boyd and Portia tore hell-for-leather through hidden gutters, sewage pipes and tunnels which bore them swiftly into the bowels of the city. In complete contrast to the faded beauty of the spires above, this place was just born ugly. Like Blake’s dark and satanic mills, the bowels of the city were just a congested, claustrophobic mess of ugly, windowless industrial units, totally featureless and purely functional, built into the gargantuan foundations of the mammoth city’s towers. The pedestrian gantries and walkways were choked with trash and flooded with stagnant, foul water that stank of shit. The only sound was the incessant pissing of condensation.
Christ, he
thought. It’s bloody awful down here. Worse than Vettel Alpha. God only
knows how Tatiana’s coping—if she’s still… No. Don’t think like that.
He forced his attention back to Portia. She seemed to be indefatigable, showing no signs of physical stress or strain as she eagerly bade Boyd follow her. For his part, the Scotsman wheezed and sweated and cursed as he pushed onward, pushed beyond the limits of his fading fitness to reach Tatiana.
“Hurry up!” Portia said. “Those mutants are bound to find the shuttle. We’ve to get there first.”
C’mon, Boyd—she’s right. You’ve got to dig deep. Bite down, fat man. He pushed on, faster now.
#
Tatiana’s eyes flickered open. What’s that noise?
It was a scratching noise, like bone on metal. No—not bone. Enamel. Teeth. Claws. Fangs.
Her skin crawled, and she began to grope about in the dark, fingers flitting across the deck like a blind-man would read brail.
Where’s that
damned torch!
#
“We’re close now,” whispered Portia, crouching low as she pointed even further down into the darkness below. “Tatiana will be down there. Another few storeys.”
“Another few storeys…” wheezed Boyd as he propped himself up against a dirty wall. “Is that all? Oh, good…”
“Quickly,” Portia said as she grabbed Boyd’s arm. “We can’t stop now.”
#
Tatiana finally found the torch, and—with trembling fingers—clicked it on.
The beam fell upon the face that peered in through the smashed bulkhead…
… and Tatiana screamed.
#
The sound of the scream lunged out of the darkness, stabbing at Boyd. “That’s her. That’s Tatiana!” he said.
“Quickly! Quickly!” Portia said. “They’ve found her!”
#
It drew back, shrieking as the torch beam hurt its eyes.
Tatiana scrambled back as best she could, the traction impaired by her own blood beneath her fingers and feet.
“Oh… Oh, God!” she said. “Oh, God!”
Then it was back, bursting in through the ruined bulkhead in a burst of savage speed.
Once it might have been bipedal and straight, but now it was an irregular, bent amalgamation of the city’s amphibious natives, and a black, hairy spider. Legs, hairs, mandibles and staring, lidless eyes sprouted out of its body, and it moved with an arachnid speed and intent.
It fell upon the wounded, weakened Tatiana, and she screamed again, hands going over her bloodied eyes.
Part Five
Kiss the Rain
“No! No! No!” Tatiana screamed as—eyes wide and body taut—she kicked out at the attacking creature. Her heavy boot smashed into its head, buying her a precious moment. Grabbing a severed cable as it kicked and thrashed above her head, she drove it into the mutant’s face.
It howled, darting back as smoke curled from its skin, to squat blindly before the hole in the ruptured bulkhead. Behind it, Tatiana could see two, then three mutated faces peering in, squeezing into the gap. Moments later, distorted limbs reached into the shuttle, grabbing the wounded creature and dragging it—squealing and thrashing—out into the open air. She caught only glimpses of its death-throws as its brethren began to devour it.
The shuttle was rocking with a sickening violence. Tatiana could almost picture the mutants crawling over the vessel, clawing and prizing away at its damaged hide as they sought out the blue candy inside.
Above her, a panel buckled and fell to the floor with a clang, and another face peered in through this new aperture. Then the shielding on the canopy was ripped away, and a host of the amphibious, spiderous mutants slavered and stared, clawing at the plexiglass.
On all fours—knowing it was only minutes until they were upon her—Tatiana crawled across to the tool locker. She wrenched its warped door away, revealing the emergency de-embarkation tools within.
Okay, I’m going to die, she admitted to herself, but I’m a Valentine, and I’m not going without a fight. Grabbing one of the tools—a bulky cross between a wrench and a crowbar—she took a deep breath and, summoning what calm she could, turned to face her fate, the tool brandished in both hands.
They were cramming themselves into the shuttle now. Through the open door, through holes in the bulkheads, through the canopy which they wrenched away, they oozed through every available gap in a glut of mandibles, lidless eyes and claws.
“Who’s first?” Tatiana said, teeth gritted, as she lifted the tool to shoulder height like a baseball bat.
Then the gunfire started.
The pervading faces vanished in an instant, fleeing this fresh threat, and Tatiana briefly glimpsed one of the escaping creatures being hit in the face, the head exploding in a miasma of blood and brain. All she could hear outside was a cacophony of squeals and gunshots. What the..? She lowered her weapon. Who..?
Seconds later a heavy boot forced its way through the door as the bewildered Tatiana looked on. Then strong arms gathered her up, and a reassuring voice broke through the fear and darkness: “It’s okay, Tatiana, I’m here…”
Boyd! Thank God! Sobbing in relief, shaking with fear, she flung her arms about the Scotsman’s strong neck as he held her to his chest with one arm, holding his revolver with the other.
Seconds later, they were
outside, and Tatiana could see the mutants fleeing into the rain and the
darkness, driven away by Boyd. If the city had a large intestine, Tatiana
realised, this was it. It was dark, cramped, wet and rammed with detritus and
the remains of her shuttle.
Burying her head in his
neck, she heard the sound of his gun as he stood his ground, fighting for her
life.
Suddenly, and despite it
all, she felt safe.
Boyd drew back his head to look at her, peering at the bruising on her head. “You okay?”</